Craiger
JUB Addict
Thanks, Rory. That's one down and several to go. 
Craiger
Craiger
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Speedway
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Twenty-Two - Hands on the Wheel
Paul sat with his mouth agape, doughnut in mid-air. “I truly don't know what to say.”
“And yet you're still talking,” which I thought was funnier than Paul did. I took a sip the of coffee Paul had brought us from Dunkin'. “We didn't have sex. I just sort of used him as an electric blanket. It was freezing in here last night. It was sleep together or die! I think something's wrong with the furnace.”
“How can you have sex with two people in one day and still be resentful over Jared having sex with one when you admit nobody ever made anybody any promises?”
“We don't know it was only one, not for sure. And he sort of said he did it twice with D. J.”
“Racer, I used to think of you as an amazingly mature man. Now I'm thinking you're as fucked up as any other nineteen year old.”
I stared hard at him. “Paul, if I want to fuck you right now, are you gonna let me?”
“Well … er ...” He chewed thoughtfully on another doughnut.
“See? And you say I'm the one who's fucked up.” I carried the breakfast dishes to the sink and ran water to wash them.
“Ok, let's just say you share certain fundamental traits with other people I consider to be fucked up. Where's a towel? I'll help you dry. People like Vince, for example. How can he claim he loves me when he spends so much time naked with this Otis dude? Speaking of fucked up people … Last night Vince admitted they both get erections, but it's just nature taking its course, he says. They never DO anything with them. AS IF! What are they doing naked in the middle of winter anyway?”
“They run. It sounds healthy.”
“Run? Naked in the snow?”
“Maybe the cold removes the sexual aspect from being naked, like it did with Jared in bed last night. Cold hands, cold dick … It was a struggle just to stay warm.”
Paul put the last of the dishes away as I cleaned the sink. “Strange, isn't it? The way I make excuses for your boy friend and you make excuses for mine. Maybe we should trade boy friends.”
“So now you're admitting Jared is your boy friend? No more B. J.?”
“It's confusing. He's not my boy friend, but still I feel ...”
“You don't want Jared, but you don't want anybody else having him either, because you COULD have him if you wanted. Jared is your Plan B. You want him hanging around. It happens. Not to me, of course, but I've heard of it happening. Mostly in trashy novels … But trashy novels are still a version of reality. Well, dear Racer, you'll have to save the next chapter for a while, I'm taking another load of chairs to New York today.”
“So soon? I'm going to miss you, Paul. Love to your mother.”
“You know, I have told her about you. She likes you sight unseen says why don't I love you, except she wishes you were a girl.”
“Should I take a selfie of my dick and send it to her? Just to clear up any possible confusion.”
Paul smiled and said, “Send it to me.” I think he meant it.
We left together, Paul to pick up the chairs and me for White Post. I stopped at a light and texted Mrs. Luckett that I thought the furnace might be broken. Even before I got past Delaplane, she answered, “I'm saving energy.” I texted back, “Why don't you save it during the day when all your tenants are at work?”. She replied, “I do.” We have two more months of winter; I'm not sure I like her plan.
There wasn't much to do at work. I tried to stay busy sweeping the floor, getting up oil stains, that kind of thing. Around ten-thirty the owner of the '59 Caddy came to pick it up. His eyes lit up when he saw it.
I thought of the unfinished work I could point out to him, but I kept quiet. Jeb had explained that some people aren't looking for perfection, just good-enough. “As long as you charge the proper price, nobody gets cheated,” he said. “It's like your car washes. You don't do a fifteen dollar wet wash. You do detailing, and you're worth the money we charge.” He said it oddly and I wondered if he knew about the size of the tips I was getting from Tommy Lynne. Then he continued with the bad news.
“Things are looking real lean for the rest of February, Racer. I'm going to shut the place down until March and go to Florida. The Missus has been buggin' me to go and this year we're gonna do it. If you want, I can leave the phone on for car detailing appointments. You could call in and check and if there's work, you can pick it up. If not, I'll just shut everything down. Sorry ...”
There we go with apologies again. Jeb's saying sorry makes it alright for him, but what about me? Well, in this case, Tommy Lynne's tips had made it more than fine for me, but still ... If I had needed the work, 'sorry' wouldn't pay the rent.
I told Jeb I'd check his phone and he seemed pleased with that arrangement. “If things change, if something better comes along for you, call me and I'll shut down the phone,” he said.
Driving home with nothing to do, I decided to stop at my mother's house. Bad idea. She was babysitting for three grandkids who were socially incompatible owing to age and temperament. The smallest and most slug-like of the trio was nameless as far as I knew. Of course she had a legal name, Dahlia Dormeyer; but no one called her that. Various names had been tried but nothing stuck. Once they tried calling her Racer, but I said, loudly enough to stop people eating dinner - and that was hard to do - “Call her that and I'm never coming home again.”
“Racer, you should be honored your sister wants to give her your name,” Mom said.
This visit reminded me why I had been so adamant. I walked past her to get to a chair and she made a grab for my leg. I shook her off and watched her face screw up.
“Careful, Racer. She's a little dyspeptic today.” I quickly moved away. Dyspeptic was my mother's all-purpose word for any non-specific illness not worth a doctor's attention, which in our house was everything including the eventual death of one grandfather. In this one's case, I guessed dyspeptic meant she was about to hurl.
“Sweetie, run to the potty ...” Mom coached. What followed was as fast as I ever saw those fat little legs move. Terrible noises followed and I wasn't sure which end of Dahlia was producing them.
“Nice seeing you, Mom. Sorry about missing Christmas,” I told her. With a wave of her hand in farewell, she disappeared in the direction of the bathroom, pausing only to shout a threat at the other two kids who had holed up in a bedroom. “I've TOLD YOU BEFORE, do not TOUCH him like that, Marcia Gayle.”
The nicest thing about visits home is that they are usually short. At least Mom wasn't drinking, which was her solution to handling her own kids. She called the drink a 'cordial' and it was a mix of brandy and instant coffee crystals, which she mixed and drank in a small jelly glass. As I recall the glass was always on the kitchen sink at the ready. She wasn't a bad person or anything; and sometimes, in the right light, you could see that she was a pretty girl once.
As I walked toward my truck, my sister Brianna drove up – to pick up one or more of the kids, I hoped, for Momma's sake. “Hey,” she called out in a very friendly and engaging way, which was not her usual way at all. “If your done in my momma's kitchen, do you have time to look at my refrigerator?”
“Brianna, it's Racer.”
“Who? Oh! Hey, Racer! I hardly knew you. Thought you were the appliance repair man, of all things.” She laughed a little and continued into the house.
I got home to my cold, two-room, sparely furnished apartment and thought it looked like heaven. I texted Mrs. Luckett, “Put the heat up or I'll burn the furniture. Thank you.” The kitchen table would probably be my first choice. It was all wood.
My phone buzzed and I figured it was Mrs. Luckett threatening me with eviction if I so much as lit a match. I didn't hustle and answered it one ring before it would go to voice mail. “Hello,” I said innocently.
“Racer … that you? It's Slick.”
“Slick!! How are you doing? Out of the hospital and all?”
“I'm ready to race. We're heading to Revolution Park in Louisiana. You coming?”
“I … I ...”
“Come on, now. Can't race without my Racer!”
Paul sat with his mouth agape, doughnut in mid-air. “I truly don't know what to say.”
“And yet you're still talking,” which I thought was funnier than Paul did. I took a sip the of coffee Paul had brought us from Dunkin'. “We didn't have sex. I just sort of used him as an electric blanket. It was freezing in here last night. It was sleep together or die! I think something's wrong with the furnace.”
“How can you have sex with two people in one day and still be resentful over Jared having sex with one when you admit nobody ever made anybody any promises?”
“We don't know it was only one, not for sure. And he sort of said he did it twice with D. J.”
“Racer, I used to think of you as an amazingly mature man. Now I'm thinking you're as fucked up as any other nineteen year old.”
I stared hard at him. “Paul, if I want to fuck you right now, are you gonna let me?”
“Well … er ...” He chewed thoughtfully on another doughnut.
“See? And you say I'm the one who's fucked up.” I carried the breakfast dishes to the sink and ran water to wash them.
“Ok, let's just say you share certain fundamental traits with other people I consider to be fucked up. Where's a towel? I'll help you dry. People like Vince, for example. How can he claim he loves me when he spends so much time naked with this Otis dude? Speaking of fucked up people … Last night Vince admitted they both get erections, but it's just nature taking its course, he says. They never DO anything with them. AS IF! What are they doing naked in the middle of winter anyway?”
“They run. It sounds healthy.”
“Run? Naked in the snow?”
“Maybe the cold removes the sexual aspect from being naked, like it did with Jared in bed last night. Cold hands, cold dick … It was a struggle just to stay warm.”
Paul put the last of the dishes away as I cleaned the sink. “Strange, isn't it? The way I make excuses for your boy friend and you make excuses for mine. Maybe we should trade boy friends.”
“So now you're admitting Jared is your boy friend? No more B. J.?”
“It's confusing. He's not my boy friend, but still I feel ...”
“You don't want Jared, but you don't want anybody else having him either, because you COULD have him if you wanted. Jared is your Plan B. You want him hanging around. It happens. Not to me, of course, but I've heard of it happening. Mostly in trashy novels … But trashy novels are still a version of reality. Well, dear Racer, you'll have to save the next chapter for a while, I'm taking another load of chairs to New York today.”
“So soon? I'm going to miss you, Paul. Love to your mother.”
“You know, I have told her about you. She likes you sight unseen says why don't I love you, except she wishes you were a girl.”
“Should I take a selfie of my dick and send it to her? Just to clear up any possible confusion.”
Paul smiled and said, “Send it to me.” I think he meant it.
We left together, Paul to pick up the chairs and me for White Post. I stopped at a light and texted Mrs. Luckett that I thought the furnace might be broken. Even before I got past Delaplane, she answered, “I'm saving energy.” I texted back, “Why don't you save it during the day when all your tenants are at work?”. She replied, “I do.” We have two more months of winter; I'm not sure I like her plan.
There wasn't much to do at work. I tried to stay busy sweeping the floor, getting up oil stains, that kind of thing. Around ten-thirty the owner of the '59 Caddy came to pick it up. His eyes lit up when he saw it.
I thought of the unfinished work I could point out to him, but I kept quiet. Jeb had explained that some people aren't looking for perfection, just good-enough. “As long as you charge the proper price, nobody gets cheated,” he said. “It's like your car washes. You don't do a fifteen dollar wet wash. You do detailing, and you're worth the money we charge.” He said it oddly and I wondered if he knew about the size of the tips I was getting from Tommy Lynne. Then he continued with the bad news.
“Things are looking real lean for the rest of February, Racer. I'm going to shut the place down until March and go to Florida. The Missus has been buggin' me to go and this year we're gonna do it. If you want, I can leave the phone on for car detailing appointments. You could call in and check and if there's work, you can pick it up. If not, I'll just shut everything down. Sorry ...”
There we go with apologies again. Jeb's saying sorry makes it alright for him, but what about me? Well, in this case, Tommy Lynne's tips had made it more than fine for me, but still ... If I had needed the work, 'sorry' wouldn't pay the rent.
I told Jeb I'd check his phone and he seemed pleased with that arrangement. “If things change, if something better comes along for you, call me and I'll shut down the phone,” he said.
Driving home with nothing to do, I decided to stop at my mother's house. Bad idea. She was babysitting for three grandkids who were socially incompatible owing to age and temperament. The smallest and most slug-like of the trio was nameless as far as I knew. Of course she had a legal name, Dahlia Dormeyer; but no one called her that. Various names had been tried but nothing stuck. Once they tried calling her Racer, but I said, loudly enough to stop people eating dinner - and that was hard to do - “Call her that and I'm never coming home again.”
“Racer, you should be honored your sister wants to give her your name,” Mom said.
This visit reminded me why I had been so adamant. I walked past her to get to a chair and she made a grab for my leg. I shook her off and watched her face screw up.
“Careful, Racer. She's a little dyspeptic today.” I quickly moved away. Dyspeptic was my mother's all-purpose word for any non-specific illness not worth a doctor's attention, which in our house was everything including the eventual death of one grandfather. In this one's case, I guessed dyspeptic meant she was about to hurl.
“Sweetie, run to the potty ...” Mom coached. What followed was as fast as I ever saw those fat little legs move. Terrible noises followed and I wasn't sure which end of Dahlia was producing them.
“Nice seeing you, Mom. Sorry about missing Christmas,” I told her. With a wave of her hand in farewell, she disappeared in the direction of the bathroom, pausing only to shout a threat at the other two kids who had holed up in a bedroom. “I've TOLD YOU BEFORE, do not TOUCH him like that, Marcia Gayle.”
The nicest thing about visits home is that they are usually short. At least Mom wasn't drinking, which was her solution to handling her own kids. She called the drink a 'cordial' and it was a mix of brandy and instant coffee crystals, which she mixed and drank in a small jelly glass. As I recall the glass was always on the kitchen sink at the ready. She wasn't a bad person or anything; and sometimes, in the right light, you could see that she was a pretty girl once.
As I walked toward my truck, my sister Brianna drove up – to pick up one or more of the kids, I hoped, for Momma's sake. “Hey,” she called out in a very friendly and engaging way, which was not her usual way at all. “If your done in my momma's kitchen, do you have time to look at my refrigerator?”
“Brianna, it's Racer.”
“Who? Oh! Hey, Racer! I hardly knew you. Thought you were the appliance repair man, of all things.” She laughed a little and continued into the house.
I got home to my cold, two-room, sparely furnished apartment and thought it looked like heaven. I texted Mrs. Luckett, “Put the heat up or I'll burn the furniture. Thank you.” The kitchen table would probably be my first choice. It was all wood.
My phone buzzed and I figured it was Mrs. Luckett threatening me with eviction if I so much as lit a match. I didn't hustle and answered it one ring before it would go to voice mail. “Hello,” I said innocently.
“Racer … that you? It's Slick.”
“Slick!! How are you doing? Out of the hospital and all?”
“I'm ready to race. We're heading to Revolution Park in Louisiana. You coming?”
“I … I ...”
“Come on, now. Can't race without my Racer!”
rocabar
Contra Spem Spero
Heh. . . Well that's a new development! Another enjoyable chapter Rory. . . Thanks!
. . . Funny that you should ask. I finished reading the Prevar/Volokhonsky translation of War and Peace, just as you were starting this story.
Are you currently reading The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Rory? I may just look into finding a copy at the local used book store.
. . . Funny that you should ask. I finished reading the Prevar/Volokhonsky translation of War and Peace, just as you were starting this story.
Are you currently reading The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Rory? I may just look into finding a copy at the local used book store.
Craiger
JUB Addict
Poor Racer. He's finally reached that first hurdle of jealousy since switching sides. Maybe a stint with Slick may break the cycle. Besides, he'd be spending time in a motel where there would be heat. Thanks, Rory.
Craiger
Craiger
Rory,
On to warmer climes - and a horny assed race driver. I'm sure that's giving Racer pause.
But, it's back into working on cars as opposed to just detailing them.
It was definitely an intriguing read - then, again, most of yours are...
On to warmer climes - and a horny assed race driver. I'm sure that's giving Racer pause.
But, it's back into working on cars as opposed to just detailing them.
It was definitely an intriguing read - then, again, most of yours are...
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Loose-I-anna! Come On! Racer should head for Wisconsin! 
Granted we can have our cold spells, with ice, and snow, etc. Butt, I keep the thermostat at 72, year round, and could certainly make good use of a HOT Young Guy under my blanket!
Vodka is not all that different from Brandy!
Granted we can have our cold spells, with ice, and snow, etc. Butt, I keep the thermostat at 72, year round, and could certainly make good use of a HOT Young Guy under my blanket!
Vodka is not all that different from Brandy!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Not currently, but last winter I read three of Tolstoy's short stories (almost novellas) - Family Happiness, The Death of I. I., and The Kreutzer Sonata. I also reread the Grand Inquisitor part of the Brothers Karamazov.
It was my Russian Period.
You two are shaming we mere literary heathens.
I read a lot - here and mass market stuff, but it's been awhile since I cracked open a literary master.
I read a lot - here and mass market stuff, but it's been awhile since I cracked open a literary master.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
I have trouble reading popular fiction. I end up questioning the facts and rewriting it in my head. It takes me forever to read a best-seller. So I stick to the good stuff.
I do that to an extent, but I'm not anal about it, so I can enjoy the books anyway.
Of course, I put George RR Martin (though I'm really pissed he didn't finish the series before the show caught up!), Diana Gabaldin, and JRR Tolkien to be a cut above popular fiction.
Of course, I put George RR Martin (though I'm really pissed he didn't finish the series before the show caught up!), Diana Gabaldin, and JRR Tolkien to be a cut above popular fiction.
Elstro1988
Slut
Love this story. Love the characters (I'm English but have a love for all things Southern, except the homophobia and Republicanism) and really rooted for Racer & BJ to finally get it together. The straight stuff was a bit...man those gals are fast n'loose hahaha. But Vicki pushed our boys together. Jared sounded like a hottie, Paul's annoying tbh. Like really annoying. Greedy and grasping. Vince clearly loves him but he's just out for what he can get. They're both using Racer and screwing with his head. On the other hand, Racer should learn to keep it in his briefs sometime. But then again I used to screw anything male with a pulse at 19/20 - old/young/married/fat/thin - anyone that gave me a green light was fair game so I guess I can relate to it.
I really want BJ to come back and for them to patch it up. They were so cute.
Hate to sound like a pedant but I'm a big petrolhead (so I love that part)..one bit confused me....Tommy Lynne has a 1985 Mazda MX-5 (Miata)? I thought they didn't come out until 1989....unless you meant an RX7 which IIRC did have energy-absorbing bumpers around '85!
Slick is a class A sleazebag. Was dreading his return. If I was Racer I'd keep well away.
Still hoping for BJ and Racer to just talk it out and then have mindblowing makeup sex where he makes BJ cum and it's all slow and sensual....maybe a ring...OK I'm getting romantic and soft...LOL.
Great story. Inspiring me to switch back from fan-fic to original gay fiction. Can't wait to read the next chapter!
I really want BJ to come back and for them to patch it up. They were so cute.
Hate to sound like a pedant but I'm a big petrolhead (so I love that part)..one bit confused me....Tommy Lynne has a 1985 Mazda MX-5 (Miata)? I thought they didn't come out until 1989....unless you meant an RX7 which IIRC did have energy-absorbing bumpers around '85!
Slick is a class A sleazebag. Was dreading his return. If I was Racer I'd keep well away.
Still hoping for BJ and Racer to just talk it out and then have mindblowing makeup sex where he makes BJ cum and it's all slow and sensual....maybe a ring...OK I'm getting romantic and soft...LOL.
Great story. Inspiring me to switch back from fan-fic to original gay fiction. Can't wait to read the next chapter!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
In the South, as in the rest of America, 'live and let live' is the basic philosophy - unless you go messin' with folks. Only the zealots of the left and right obsess about the other stuff. Unfortunately, the zealots get all the publicity.
RX7 (commonly called a Miata in the US) was very popular in '85. Three classmates got them for graduation gifts and they were all stolen within two weeks. Mazda should have worried more about the locks than the bumpers.
Rory,
I'm not an uber motor head, but what you said didn't ring true to me. The 80's were prime years for my testosterone fueled love affair with the automobile. I also happened to work for an Automotive Parts Warehouse Distributor for part of that time.
I remember the RX-7 fondly - and NEVER hear it referred to as the Miata.
The Miata didn't make its entrance until later. It is mentioned as the MX-5 in the information on-line.
Both are two seater sports cars, and the Miata replaced the RX7.
The RX7 ceased production in '85; the Miata started production in '89.
Here are some Wiki Links:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mazda_RX-7
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mazda_MX-5
I'm really not one of those far left/right zealots - at least on the car front.
I'm not an uber motor head, but what you said didn't ring true to me. The 80's were prime years for my testosterone fueled love affair with the automobile. I also happened to work for an Automotive Parts Warehouse Distributor for part of that time.
I remember the RX-7 fondly - and NEVER hear it referred to as the Miata.
The Miata didn't make its entrance until later. It is mentioned as the MX-5 in the information on-line.
Both are two seater sports cars, and the Miata replaced the RX7.
The RX7 ceased production in '85; the Miata started production in '89.
Here are some Wiki Links:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mazda_RX-7
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mazda_MX-5
I'm really not one of those far left/right zealots - at least on the car front.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Sorry for the error. I thought I checked it thoroughly. Maybe my memory was corrupted by thoughts of a Mazda Protege5, which I once owned (and despised).
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Twenty-Three - On the Road Again
Revolution Park also known as the Monroe Motor Speedway was in Monroe, Louisiana, previously the home of the world's the first Coca-Cola bottler and Delta Airlines. Both have subsequently left for greener pastures as have a some of the residents. At least that's what I got off the web. It was a thousand miles away, a whole day's driving, which made North Carolina look like heaven only much closer.
The track in Monroe was fairly new in the NASCAR world, becoming a sanctioned speedway only a few years ago. Slick's plan was to hide out, more or less, driving almost incognito, while he re-honed his driving skills and got used to the new cars. A track where few would know him was exactly what he wanted; or maybe it was what Howard wanted. I wasn't sure Slick was that slick at figuring things out.
I spent the rest of the afternoon doing laundry and sorting what I'd need for loading the truck in the morning. I had bought some new tools and was eager to try them, which I couldn't do at White Post because the tools were metric and the old cars weren't. There's something beautiful about tool sets laid out in their chests; the graduated arrays of wrenches and screw drivers looked as handsome as the columns on the buildings in Washington. I got wrapped up in admiring them and didn't hear the door.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said, hoping for an easier conversation than the last time.
“Isn't it you birthday pretty soon?” He had something hidden in Gay Pride stripped paper.
“B. J., thanks.” I accepted the gift. “My birthday's next week. Should I unwrap it?”
“If you want to try something new to drink, you should.” He smiled as I unveiled the label-less bottle from the paper covering it.
“Nice paper,” I complimented him and waited for an explanation.
“Remember Thug Turnbull? He and his friend are making artisanal whiskey over near Little Washington.”
Thug Turnbull was a massive lineman who played with B. J. on the high school football team. I didn't know him at all and figured he didn't know me. He was all sports all the time and if you weren't a teammate, he had no time for you. It was more than a little interesting he was making whiskey since I would have guessed he didn't know a half-pint from a hogshead. While I tried to recall if I had ever even said hello to Thug, I wondered why B. J. was looking at me expectantly.
“His friend? Aren't you gonna ask? His FRIEND?” B. J. stressed the word. “They're lovers, Racer. Gay lovers! Look at the paper! They make no never mind about it. While I was at the still, Thug made a joke and Mark, his friend, kissed him, right in front of me! On the lips! They're seeing if they can make some money on the shine and then they're getting MARRIED! Thug and Mark, who is a real decent sort by the way, and Thug is nuts about him.” B. J. was as thrilled with the news as Thug and Mark must have been telling him. “It's their version of vodka,” he added pointing at the bottle and then he gave me a funny look. “You're taller,” he said.
He came up and stood close to me. “Yes, taller ...”
“In two months?” I asked.
“Since I've know you, what? Eight months? ... I used to have to lean down to kiss you and now … I could just tilt your head a little ...” He put a crooked finger under my chin and tilted my head. We still weren't the same height, but we were closer than before. He kissed me very gently and stood back. “A couple of inches taller,” he said with conviction. Then he kissed me again. “Same great kiss, though. Nothing changed there.”
I watched him take his coat off. His appearance seemed to call for a comment in turn. “You look different, too.” A dumb comment, I guess, but I couldn't put my finger on the change in him.
“I've lost some weight and found a better barber. The tv station has a style adviser who warned me about keepin' myself at football weight. 'If you ain't playing,' he said, 'shed the pounds or you'll look fifty by the time you're thirty.' So I quit eating lunch and it was easy.”
“You look … more ...”
“Polished? Adult?” he suggested and I nodded. “That's the look I'm goin' for. You should see me in a suit!” He laughed at himself and then looked at me. “Racer ...” He dropped the banter and hugged me hard, almost knocking the wind out of me. He awkwardly kissed my cheek and then found my lips. He pulled back and said something I couldn't quite understand that included the words “miss you” and then he kissed me again. He broke away and quickly began taking his clothes off.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want you to see how much weight I've lost.” He stopped stripping leaving his briefs on and anybody with eyes would say he looked amazing. He stood and held his arms out a little from his sides. “See?”
“B. J. ...” It was my turn to grab him. His hands hadn't changed; their touch excited me. His kisses were that same. The hungry way he looked at me was the same. Still something was different. Wordlessly we got reacquainted and then he frowned.
“Why is it so fuckin' cold in here?” he asked.
“Bedroom,” was my answer. I sure wasn't gonna tell him to put his clothes back on and I pulled mine off as we walked.
Once we were in the slightly-warmer bedroom and standing on a throw rug, I pulled him back into my arms and kissed him some more. Over his shoulder I could see the image of us in the closet mirror. Covered by the tight light gray briefs, his ass looked perfect. I ran my hands over the swell of his cheeks, squeezing a little. I slipped my fingers into the waistband and slowly, oh ... so … slowly, slipped the briefs down. I gasped out loud at the sight and B. J. figured out what held my attention.
“I'm all yours, Race, any way you want.”
There's always something beautiful about a guy's ass, but especially when he's offering it to you in a simple and honest way. Nothing blatant, no obscene wiggles or postures, just a beautiful man saying he's all yours. It was greedy of me; but that thought didn't come until later. I wanted to fuck him right away. No wait or preliminaries. All I could think was I wanted my cock in B. J.
He accommodated me. It wasn't until I saw the pain that my entry cause that I held back, not going in deep. I was afraid I would hurt him. “B. J. ...are you ok?” I froze in position.
He managed a smile. “Don't let me get out of practice again.” He pulled me closer, forcing my cock deeper. It was just a whisper when he said, “Fuck me.” Soon he relaxed and I noticed his eyes were open every time I looked at him. “I want to see everything you do,” he explained and then, incongruously, closed his eyes as he kissed me.
It was as if he had never left. I touched his cock and he sighed, “Racer ...Baby … I'm ...” He came a ton in my hand. Semen everywhere and he just kept kissing me. “Keep fuckin' me 'til you cum,” he whispered, which didn't take long.
“You never came that much before,” I said. My underwear was soaked from wiping him up.
“You never made me wait that long before,” he answered.
“You haven't …?” I didn't finish the question. I looked at him, lying naked in my bed with that awesome post-fuck look on his face.
“I didn't meet anybody like you.” Saying simple stuff like that, B. J. could melt solid rock and my heart isn't nearly that hard.
“Shower with me,” I invited. “It's the only way to get warm.” He grinned and we steamed up the bathroom together, playing around, touching this, stroking that, kissing.
“Quick, before we get cold again … we'll try some of Thug's fire water,” I proposed. We dressed quickly and sat on the sofa, sipping.
“I don't want to leave, Racer. Ever again.” I thought he was crying but he said it was the whiskey burn.
“What do we do with Jared? I promised he could stay. And I'm leaving in the morning.”
“Leaving! Where?” B. J. looked shattered. I explained. “So maybe you and Jared could be roommates until I get back?”
“That's the worst idea I ever heard. Besides … He may not be coming back. He and my brother are ...”
“Lovers?”
“Fuckin' every night. That's what they're doing and I can hear 'em.”
“So that's why you want to move back here …,” I smirked at him.
“No, no, baby ...” He hugged me. “Well, maybe a little bit … But that doesn't mean I don't … ” I thought he was going to finish with “love you”, but he didn't. Not my B. J. That would have been too easy. After a pause he went whole hog. “Racer, will you marry me?”
“No.” I laughed at the idea. “Let's start with lovin' and fuckin'. Baby steps. Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
“I don't know much of anything. Start with 'yes, I love you.' ”
“Yes, I love you.”
He looked at me with that look of his, that look that turns me to jelly and makes me hard at the same time. You know he's not lying. He loves me; but is he really ready to deal with all the rest of it? He's not thinking about that part. He's just thinking about …
“Racer, let's go back to bed? OK?”
“You've had enough of Thug's 'shine?”
“No, but I can wait for that. I can't wait for you.” I could feel his breath and then his tongue on my neck, his hand on my cheek, then his lips moving over my face. “I want to see if you can fuck me from the rear and kiss me. I like it when you kiss me and fuck me at the same time.” He kept kissing me. “I hate these clothes. I want to be naked with you.”
“Don't you want to eat dinner?”
“NO! No drinking, no dinner. I want to fuck!”
So maybe I have grown a little. The last time we tried rear entry, I couldn't kiss him. This time I could, and he really liked the way my cock was working inside him. He came real easy; so did I. Eventually, we disentangled.
“B. J., are you crying again?”
“I love you, Racer.” His cheeks were all wet when I kissed them.
Revolution Park also known as the Monroe Motor Speedway was in Monroe, Louisiana, previously the home of the world's the first Coca-Cola bottler and Delta Airlines. Both have subsequently left for greener pastures as have a some of the residents. At least that's what I got off the web. It was a thousand miles away, a whole day's driving, which made North Carolina look like heaven only much closer.
The track in Monroe was fairly new in the NASCAR world, becoming a sanctioned speedway only a few years ago. Slick's plan was to hide out, more or less, driving almost incognito, while he re-honed his driving skills and got used to the new cars. A track where few would know him was exactly what he wanted; or maybe it was what Howard wanted. I wasn't sure Slick was that slick at figuring things out.
I spent the rest of the afternoon doing laundry and sorting what I'd need for loading the truck in the morning. I had bought some new tools and was eager to try them, which I couldn't do at White Post because the tools were metric and the old cars weren't. There's something beautiful about tool sets laid out in their chests; the graduated arrays of wrenches and screw drivers looked as handsome as the columns on the buildings in Washington. I got wrapped up in admiring them and didn't hear the door.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said, hoping for an easier conversation than the last time.
“Isn't it you birthday pretty soon?” He had something hidden in Gay Pride stripped paper.
“B. J., thanks.” I accepted the gift. “My birthday's next week. Should I unwrap it?”
“If you want to try something new to drink, you should.” He smiled as I unveiled the label-less bottle from the paper covering it.
“Nice paper,” I complimented him and waited for an explanation.
“Remember Thug Turnbull? He and his friend are making artisanal whiskey over near Little Washington.”
Thug Turnbull was a massive lineman who played with B. J. on the high school football team. I didn't know him at all and figured he didn't know me. He was all sports all the time and if you weren't a teammate, he had no time for you. It was more than a little interesting he was making whiskey since I would have guessed he didn't know a half-pint from a hogshead. While I tried to recall if I had ever even said hello to Thug, I wondered why B. J. was looking at me expectantly.
“His friend? Aren't you gonna ask? His FRIEND?” B. J. stressed the word. “They're lovers, Racer. Gay lovers! Look at the paper! They make no never mind about it. While I was at the still, Thug made a joke and Mark, his friend, kissed him, right in front of me! On the lips! They're seeing if they can make some money on the shine and then they're getting MARRIED! Thug and Mark, who is a real decent sort by the way, and Thug is nuts about him.” B. J. was as thrilled with the news as Thug and Mark must have been telling him. “It's their version of vodka,” he added pointing at the bottle and then he gave me a funny look. “You're taller,” he said.
He came up and stood close to me. “Yes, taller ...”
“In two months?” I asked.
“Since I've know you, what? Eight months? ... I used to have to lean down to kiss you and now … I could just tilt your head a little ...” He put a crooked finger under my chin and tilted my head. We still weren't the same height, but we were closer than before. He kissed me very gently and stood back. “A couple of inches taller,” he said with conviction. Then he kissed me again. “Same great kiss, though. Nothing changed there.”
I watched him take his coat off. His appearance seemed to call for a comment in turn. “You look different, too.” A dumb comment, I guess, but I couldn't put my finger on the change in him.
“I've lost some weight and found a better barber. The tv station has a style adviser who warned me about keepin' myself at football weight. 'If you ain't playing,' he said, 'shed the pounds or you'll look fifty by the time you're thirty.' So I quit eating lunch and it was easy.”
“You look … more ...”
“Polished? Adult?” he suggested and I nodded. “That's the look I'm goin' for. You should see me in a suit!” He laughed at himself and then looked at me. “Racer ...” He dropped the banter and hugged me hard, almost knocking the wind out of me. He awkwardly kissed my cheek and then found my lips. He pulled back and said something I couldn't quite understand that included the words “miss you” and then he kissed me again. He broke away and quickly began taking his clothes off.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want you to see how much weight I've lost.” He stopped stripping leaving his briefs on and anybody with eyes would say he looked amazing. He stood and held his arms out a little from his sides. “See?”
“B. J. ...” It was my turn to grab him. His hands hadn't changed; their touch excited me. His kisses were that same. The hungry way he looked at me was the same. Still something was different. Wordlessly we got reacquainted and then he frowned.
“Why is it so fuckin' cold in here?” he asked.
“Bedroom,” was my answer. I sure wasn't gonna tell him to put his clothes back on and I pulled mine off as we walked.
Once we were in the slightly-warmer bedroom and standing on a throw rug, I pulled him back into my arms and kissed him some more. Over his shoulder I could see the image of us in the closet mirror. Covered by the tight light gray briefs, his ass looked perfect. I ran my hands over the swell of his cheeks, squeezing a little. I slipped my fingers into the waistband and slowly, oh ... so … slowly, slipped the briefs down. I gasped out loud at the sight and B. J. figured out what held my attention.
“I'm all yours, Race, any way you want.”
There's always something beautiful about a guy's ass, but especially when he's offering it to you in a simple and honest way. Nothing blatant, no obscene wiggles or postures, just a beautiful man saying he's all yours. It was greedy of me; but that thought didn't come until later. I wanted to fuck him right away. No wait or preliminaries. All I could think was I wanted my cock in B. J.
He accommodated me. It wasn't until I saw the pain that my entry cause that I held back, not going in deep. I was afraid I would hurt him. “B. J. ...are you ok?” I froze in position.
He managed a smile. “Don't let me get out of practice again.” He pulled me closer, forcing my cock deeper. It was just a whisper when he said, “Fuck me.” Soon he relaxed and I noticed his eyes were open every time I looked at him. “I want to see everything you do,” he explained and then, incongruously, closed his eyes as he kissed me.
It was as if he had never left. I touched his cock and he sighed, “Racer ...Baby … I'm ...” He came a ton in my hand. Semen everywhere and he just kept kissing me. “Keep fuckin' me 'til you cum,” he whispered, which didn't take long.
“You never came that much before,” I said. My underwear was soaked from wiping him up.
“You never made me wait that long before,” he answered.
“You haven't …?” I didn't finish the question. I looked at him, lying naked in my bed with that awesome post-fuck look on his face.
“I didn't meet anybody like you.” Saying simple stuff like that, B. J. could melt solid rock and my heart isn't nearly that hard.
“Shower with me,” I invited. “It's the only way to get warm.” He grinned and we steamed up the bathroom together, playing around, touching this, stroking that, kissing.
“Quick, before we get cold again … we'll try some of Thug's fire water,” I proposed. We dressed quickly and sat on the sofa, sipping.
“I don't want to leave, Racer. Ever again.” I thought he was crying but he said it was the whiskey burn.
“What do we do with Jared? I promised he could stay. And I'm leaving in the morning.”
“Leaving! Where?” B. J. looked shattered. I explained. “So maybe you and Jared could be roommates until I get back?”
“That's the worst idea I ever heard. Besides … He may not be coming back. He and my brother are ...”
“Lovers?”
“Fuckin' every night. That's what they're doing and I can hear 'em.”
“So that's why you want to move back here …,” I smirked at him.
“No, no, baby ...” He hugged me. “Well, maybe a little bit … But that doesn't mean I don't … ” I thought he was going to finish with “love you”, but he didn't. Not my B. J. That would have been too easy. After a pause he went whole hog. “Racer, will you marry me?”
“No.” I laughed at the idea. “Let's start with lovin' and fuckin'. Baby steps. Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
“I don't know much of anything. Start with 'yes, I love you.' ”
“Yes, I love you.”
He looked at me with that look of his, that look that turns me to jelly and makes me hard at the same time. You know he's not lying. He loves me; but is he really ready to deal with all the rest of it? He's not thinking about that part. He's just thinking about …
“Racer, let's go back to bed? OK?”
“You've had enough of Thug's 'shine?”
“No, but I can wait for that. I can't wait for you.” I could feel his breath and then his tongue on my neck, his hand on my cheek, then his lips moving over my face. “I want to see if you can fuck me from the rear and kiss me. I like it when you kiss me and fuck me at the same time.” He kept kissing me. “I hate these clothes. I want to be naked with you.”
“Don't you want to eat dinner?”
“NO! No drinking, no dinner. I want to fuck!”
So maybe I have grown a little. The last time we tried rear entry, I couldn't kiss him. This time I could, and he really liked the way my cock was working inside him. He came real easy; so did I. Eventually, we disentangled.
“B. J., are you crying again?”
“I love you, Racer.” His cheeks were all wet when I kissed them.
BluesDog
Sex God
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EasyRory, this story keeps whipping through a lot of hairpin turns. We are heading in one direction, and BAM! we're off in a whole other emotional landscape.
How wonderful that B.J. is back. He is, in my opinion, the most complex and complete character you have here, even more so than Racer who's appears in so many more scenes as the narrator.
I was delighted to read this chapter, so thank you for sharing it.
Parenthetically... gay moonshiners? Please tell me you can give us at least a short story about them!
How wonderful that B.J. is back. He is, in my opinion, the most complex and complete character you have here, even more so than Racer who's appears in so many more scenes as the narrator.
I was delighted to read this chapter, so thank you for sharing it.
Parenthetically... gay moonshiners? Please tell me you can give us at least a short story about them!
Rory,
It's about effing time! They are made for each other.
Now, what's going to happen with this road trip?
BJ's got his sports announcing gig.
And there's Slick's needs to contend with.
But, for right now, everything feels good.
Thanks, I needed that.
It's about effing time! They are made for each other.
Now, what's going to happen with this road trip?
BJ's got his sports announcing gig.
And there's Slick's needs to contend with.
But, for right now, everything feels good.
Thanks, I needed that.
Craiger
JUB Addict
Comforting to know B.J. is back. In some ways I think we have Thug and Mark to thank. Their up coming marriage has stirred up a lot of emotion and B.J. realizes what his is truly missing. I'm happy for them both. Thanks, Rory, for a romantic and sexy chapter.
Craiger
Craiger
EasyRory
JUB Addict
I've been wondering if the narrative volte-face has been too severe - sorry to say, it's a reflection of my personal life, which has involved some sudden and big events lately.
About Thug and Mark ... they're legal in every way. Craft stills and wineries are popping up all over Virginia these days. A friend of mine (hated being a DC lawyer) now makes gin and is doing well at it.
